A Cobbler's Life for Me
by 4getfulimaginator
Summary: Lieutenant Duckling AU with shoemaker!Killian and Princess!Emma, inspired by the fairy tale "The Elves and the Shoemaker." He makes the shoes her kingdom buys. He's also her best friend. She's the crown princess - and the girl he secretly adores. A series of related one-shots set in this universe circle around their blossoming friendship and romance (posted in no particular order).
1. somewhere in time

**somewhere in time**

* * *

><p>Emma's parents had never quite understood why she was so fascinated with the cobbler's shop.<p>

It wasn't much to look at, her mother argued. The main room was musky with the odor of fresh leather, dusty from the collection of shoes littered all over the place. The windows were dirty, as if they'd never been cleaned.

But, Emma would counter with a huff, the shoemakers themselves were the best in the entire realm, accumulating thousands of orders over the years ― _and when you're busy like that, it's hard to keep everything in order all the time_.

Her father would just shake his head and smile knowingly at her, as if he was _exactly_ aware of why Emma kept demanding so many new pairs of shoes.

_The life of a princess is serious. The life of a princess is important. The life of a princess is―_

Monotonous.

Preposterous, really.

Emma cared about the fate of her subjects, she really did. She put an effort into her studies, she practiced the rules of state and etiquette until her head ached, and she tried her best to always obey her parents.

She _tried _to be a good princess. That counted for something, right?

But this whole suitor business was really a pain in the ass. Expectations everywhere she turned, choices that she didn't want to make.

There were a lot of moments, when she would have some free time to stare out her bedroom window at the sea, to drift off and let her imagination run free, where castles and kingdoms and futures were inconsequential.

Dreams that included her and a certain blue-eyed, dashing young man from a particular shop.

* * *

><p>The first time she had noticed Killian was when the old shoemaker had died. David had paid a regal visit to the man's abode, mainly because the shop had been closed for days on end without any notice. The neighboring villagers had gotten worried and sent a man to ask the king and queen for their help. Her father had dragged her along as one of their <em>lessons<em>, as he called them. _Emma, you need to interact with the people and get to know them. You will be queen someday._

She had pouted and kept her face glued to the carriage window during the entire ride there.

It turned out that not only was the wizened gentleman lying still in his bed, but there were two exceptional items hiding in the storage closet. Two dark heads, with elvish shaped ears, bodies shivering in each other's arms when David yanked the rusty door open and let the light in to shine on their faces.

The shoemaker at the time didn't have the best reputation. He was called miser, thief, cheat ― and that was on a _good_ day. Who could have known that he had taken in two vagabonds as his apprentices, having them do his work at night and giving them scraps to eat as payment? They had been ordered never to come out of the closet during the day, to stay out of sight and not make any noise. Two orphan boys, abandoned years ago by their father and scared to death, even after David had given them Emma's lunch (_she had fumed at that_) and asked the guards to _find some damn blankets_.

Of course, her father just had to introduce her to them, still in a tantrum about the trip and her missing lunch and the whole day altogether. She was Princess Emma of Misthaven. They were Liam and Killian Jones, older and younger brother. She shook hands with them, curtsying only because of one whisper in her ear (_be polite, sweetheart, or no riding for a month)_.

Amazed by their handiwork, David decided to give them the shoemaker's shop, seeing as he had no relatives to speak of and by God, the town still needed a resident cobbler. _Emma wears out her shoes and slippers all the time, you'd think she was dancing all night_, he told the two boys with a laugh.

Liam said he was old enough to take care of both of them. Killian hid his face in his brother's shoulder. Emma looked them over, curious why the smaller boy was so shy.

When he peeked at her, she was shocked by the color in his gaze, so clear and intense and decisive. She had never seen eyes like his.

Tentatively, he smiled at her, his cheeks red. To her own chagrin, she smiled back, blushing herself.

Naturally, she still fought her shoe fittings, but every month of every year, it was with a little less fervor, a little less resentment. By the time she was seventeen, she only pretended to be flummoxed by her parents' insistence she go to the cobblers.

Secretly, she'd take whatever chances she got to see Killian. There was a good reason why the village girls all swooned over him whenever he'd run errands in town.

When Liam was older, he was placed under the king's personal tutelage and offered a position in the Navy. After a while, Killian followed in his footsteps, and the shoemaker's shop was closed for a time.

The day they came back, safe and sound, to the Enchanted Forest was the happiest of Emma's life.

For Lieutenant Killian Jones, decorated by her father and knighted by her mother, was the man she wanted by her side and in her bed.

* * *

><p>"Another pair ruined, Your Highness?" Killian tsked with a mocking smile. He held the shoes up with a curled finger. "What have you been doing in them?"<p>

Emma pointed her nose in the air, peering out of the corner of her eye at the other customers. They were all fawning over Liam as he showed them the latest wares.

"That is frankly none of your business, _Jones_," she said briskly, sweeping past him to eye a lavish set of ballroom slippers. They were blue and white and extremely elegant, tailored for small feet.

Scratching behind his ear, Killian motioned toward the shoes. "Those are for Princess Ella, Your Highness. Your mother―"

"Commissioned them as a birthday present ― _I know__._" Emma raised her eyebrows, glancing at the stairs that led to the workroom above their heads. "Don't you have anything special in my size?"

He nodded, extending a hand. She followed him up, taking each step carefully so she wouldn't trip over her dress. A small smile crossed her lips when he cursed as he fiddled with the keys, searching for the right one to slam into the lock.

They stood in the open doorway for just a moment before he was pulling her into the darkness, shutting the light out behind them.

Her back was pressed against the thick door, his hands on either side of her as his mouth found hers in a clashing of teeth and tongues. Their hungry moans echoed in the small space.

"Good God, we need to stop doing this." His lips slid down her throat, stopping at her decolletage. "Because 'the last time' always leads to a next time, and I may not be able to stop next time_ ― bloody hell, _I want you, Emma."

She groaned out "_Killian_" before kissing him again, until there wasn't any breath left for words.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Should I continue?**


	2. to be on fire

**to be on fire**

* * *

><p>Attraction was never something Emma had understood very well.<p>

She could see the sense of it when she eyed her mother and father (_only when they thought she wasn't looking_). But she couldn't put her finger on it, couldn't grasp why the kitchen girls would gasp and giggle over the knights during their jousting practices but sneer at the gangly stable boys.

When she turned ten, she caught her maid kissing one of the servants in a hallway corridor. Gawking only for a second, she had turned on her heel and vowed that it was disgusting, awkward, and just― Well, nonsensical.

And that was the end of it. For some time, she didn't give any boys a second glance. She continued to sneak out during the day and convince Killian to show her how to make shoes, following him around the shop like a puppy and teasing him endlessly. To his credit, he teased her back, tugged on her braids, and always had the brightest smile on his face when he'd find her on the shop's doorstep, ready to knock _again_.

Until that fateful summer.

Her fifteenth.

Oh, that was _something_.

Emma remembered it perfectly: Baelfire was visiting with his stepmother. He was pretty annoying, trailing her _everywhere_ with those mournful brown eyes, clumsy and timid and unsure. It wasn't like he was horrid ― he was just...he wasn't really someone she wanted to _know_.

Killian, on the other hand...

She had conducted a one-woman mutiny by digging out her best pair of shoes and hacking at them with a paring knife.

Needless to say, her mother had a fit when she saw them ― _Emma, what on earth have you done?_

Finest dress and perfume, a working carriage, one free afternoon to spoil herself in the cobbler's shop and feast her eyes on the beauteous creations her closest friend and his brother came up with. Yes, shoe repair was _the_ best excuse for the escape of royal duties in all the realms.

It wasn't like the trip was any different from the ones before. After all, Liam and Killian knew her from childhood. The moment the smell of fresh leather wafted past her nose, every nerve in Emma's body relaxed instantly. It was familiar, welcoming, _home_. She was here often enough that it was like slipping in an old chair you always sat in by the fire.

Of course, she had primped herself _on purpose_ to so that her mother couldn't reprimand her for being rude to their guests and her father couldn't accuse her of running away when she was making _an official royal visit to the cobblers_.

Hah, they saw right through her ruse. But they smiled, and nodded, and said nothing, so off she went.

She hadn't expected her reception, though.

* * *

><p>For one thing, Liam wasn't around. It was just Killian, bent over the long crafting table as he sewed together two pieces of dyed leather. The slow movements of his hands as he pulled the needle back and forth...the careful twists of his fingers when he adjusted the thread and stopped it from tangling... Her breath caught in her throat. She'd never seen him at work before ― true, he had shown her how to make shoes ― but alone, unwatched... He looked different this way.<p>

A lump formed in her throat. She was _impressed_.

He was clearly dedicated to his trade, and his designs were true artistry.

His hair, tied back cavalier style, swung to and fro as he cocked his head, tsking when something didn't go his way. Emma smiled to herself, admiring how his sleeves were rolled up his arms so that nothing could interfere with his task. Strong, muscular arms that were never idle or lazy.

Wait..._admire_? _His arms_?

That should have been her first sign. She didn't admire men. Well, with the exception of her father, but still... That wasn't the same.

This was Killian. Her friend.

_They once played with wooden swords, for God's sake._

She sighed loudly to get his attention. When he turned around, it was with a deep bow and a muffled apology.

There it was ― the second sign something was certainly _wrong_.

He _never_ bowed to her because she never wanted him to. He was the one person who treated her like an equal, and heavens above, she _liked_ that.

"Hey ― it's me, silly," she laughed, spreading her hands over the folds of her gown and swishing from side to side. "I didn't want to come like _this_, but Mom and Dad _made_ me come in style, otherwise Bae and Belle would have been _offended_ by my absence."

His posture stiffened. "How can I be of assistance, Your Highness?" He chewed on the words slowly, his drawl more pronounced, and he didn't meet her eyes, his cheeks burning red.

He was _nervous_. But why?

Brushing off her worries with a toss of her hair, Emma smiled widely and proceeded to throw herself on the nearest chair. "My shoes are in pieces." She quickly withdrew the guilty pair and showed them to him.

When his shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes at the obvious cuts, she felt better. This was the Killian she knew ― the one who never put up with any of her antics. "Lass, I can _clearly_ see that. Though what manner of weapon did you use to attack them, if I may ask?"

She shrugged. "First, the file. Then, when that didn't work, I stole a knife from the kitchen."

He shook his head at her, chuckling. The new grin didn't reach his soft glances toward her. "You'd do anything to get your way, wouldn't you?"

She huffed, whining, "You make me sound so _selfish_, Killian."

"Selfish? Maybe a _little_. But to me, you're just a rebel. Rebels defy the odds. That's just who you are, Emma."

"How can you tell?" God, it was so good to hear him say her name. All morning and noon it had been "_Princess Emma_" and "_Your Highness_."

"Because we're one of a kind, you and I." He rustled about, searching for his tools. "I want to please Liam, you want to please your parents...but our innermost selves want _us_ to be pleased."

Settling her dress apart so that he would be able to access her feet, Emma readied herself for the footstool.

Which never came.

Killian was standing in front of her, the measuring tape in his hands ― but no stool. He started stammering when she asked what had happened to it.

"_Bloody_― damn ― bugger." He gaped at her. "Liam took it. He went to visit Lady Priscilla, and..."

"Oh. Well, I trust you," she smirked. "I'll survive without it." Then, she stretched out her leg, so her right foot was perfectly poised for him, dangling in the air.

His jaw _dropped_.

Emma couldn't understand why he was so flustered. It was just a foot ― stocking-clad feet, that she had made sure were washed and groomed. Like always. She always came prepared. It was the same old routine. He knew.

So why was he so...so...so uncomf―

"I ― uh, um...I...okay." His smile was strained as he knelt down.

Killian had been touching her feet since she had her first fitting with him. It was nothing new. In fact, she was quite used to it. So no, she absolutely _shouldn't_ be getting tingles up and down her legs as he inspected the length of her sole and traced her instep and measured her ankles.

But she did. It was the lightest feeling, going up her spine in _waves_. And...she began to look at him ― really, _really_ look at him, up close.

She noticed how dark his hair was, his fine cheekbones, the light stubble on his chin, his tailored attire, the width of his palms. He was concentrating on the usual, but he was acting unusually. His fingers were trembling as he touched her, and there was obvious sweat glistening on his forehead.

When he finished his ministrations, he hesitated, pausing in motion between feet.

Emma's self-control wavered. "Do you need me to pull up my skirt for the other one?"

He snapped out of his daze, his striking blue gaze fixated on her. "W–what?" he stuttered, blushing again.

"Do you need my skirt higher up?" she said, gritting her teeth. Despite her curiosity, her patience with his strange behavior was waning.

Instead of answering, he suddenly gave her a look ― such a _bold_ look, that it was difficult to describe. _All sun and no shade_, is what her mother would say. There was no respite from how he stared her down, unspoken challenge in those eyes, one eyebrow raised, his lips curving up in a smirk of their own.

What challenge Killian was on about, she had no idea. But she would accept it, nonetheless. Biting down on her lower lip, she dragged up the fabric inch by inch.

Gentle but firm, his fingers wrapped underneath her now exposed calf. The stocking was up to her knee. Slowly, he rolled it down. Then his other hand reached out to cup her heel, as if cradling her leg, and the stocking came off entirely, leaving her foot bare. It was all she could do to stay still and not move, not even fidget as his touch pierced through her skin and swarmed her blood with the stabbing of a thousand blunted knives. He took his time, even though she had just come last month for new measurements.

Her face was hot, but her feet were cold when he left them, standing up to stride to the table.

As soon as he was out of earshot, she was gasping for air, trying desperately to get ahold of herself.

* * *

><p>Later, at home, she finally figured it out ― the fumbling, the reactions... It was what all the servant girls had gossiped about.<p>

Desire.

She had just experienced _desire_.

_Oh God, no._

She was _attracted_ to Killian Jones.

And she had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: To be continued...**


	3. if the shoe won't fit

**if the shoe won't fit**

* * *

><p>She was, without a doubt, the most exasperating, frustrating, and self-assured lass in all of Misthaven.<p>

She also was the most adventurous, imaginative ― and so bloody good-hearted, even if she didn't want to acknowledge it.

A true beauty, with piercing green eyes and hair finer than gold.

And he loved her. God above, he _loved_ her, with all of his being.

Realizing at sixteen years that the object of your affection is not only your best friend but also the goddamn princess...

_Bloody hell_, was all he could think to himself.

Killian was never one for words either. That was Liam, with his penchant for duty and titles and always doing the right thing.

He tried to follow that good example of his brother's ― he really did. But then Emma would come into the shop, bringing her laughter and smiles and warmth, and he'd be lost all over again.

It was so wrong of him to peruse her figure when she wasn't looking, admiring that waist and those hips and not understanding why.

Well, that was a lie. He knew _exactly_ why. Before his coming-of-age, he didn't care if the lass was adorned in dresses or simple trousers and a shirt ― she was _here_ and with _him_ and that was all that mattered, really. But now that he had started..._noticing _women, all he could see was Emma in dresses with low decolletages, short skirts, and her hair bundled up on her head so he could gaze at the curve of her neck.

That one time she had arrived, sporting the latest fashion of corset (_and complaining about it to no end_), he was sure his eyes would bulge from his head and drop on the floor. He had never been particularly taken by breasts, but now with every heady breath she took, Emma's generous bosom was attracting ample attention. He nearly tripped over his own feet because he was too busy looking at her rising chest instead of her face.

On lonely nights, when Liam was off on some errand and he was by himself in the shop, squirming in the cold bed upstairs, his dreams became _quite_ sordid. Cold baths always did the trick to stop those kinds of thoughts in their tracks. Even if those thoughts were rather muddled, because all he had to go on was Liam's personal romantic exploits and some of the foul talk drifting into the streets from the local tavern.

Bloody hell, he'd never even worked up the courage to _kiss_ a girl.

Once he tried. Just for the sake of it, to see if this need for Emma was imagined or passing.

There was this dark-headed lass who worked at the bakery ― Liam teased him that _oh, she fancied him_ ― and she would come in at the oddest times, as if she knew their most crowded hours and when the shop was empty. And her attention was focused entirely on Killian, asking about this and that, staring at every bloody shoe with a purposeful fixation as she led him on and on with her vigorous chatter.

He was most surprised when the retreat of his brother upstairs caused her to quickly grab him and plant a rather forceful kiss on him.

To his utter chagrin, he was pushing her off after only one moment, apologizing profusely until he was red in the face.

Disappointed, she left with more than one huff and some _very_ unladylike words.

Safe to say, Milah never bothered him again after that.

And he kept daydreaming about Emma, the trill of her voice and the shine of her hair.

Those rosy lips, that parted so beautifully as she giggled at something he said to make her laugh or for her smile when he tried to cheer her up.

Killian wanted to kiss _her_ lips, not anyone else's.

That was why he was so bloody conflicted.

* * *

><p>Fantasies about a possible courtship, where Emma reciprocated his feelings, followed Killian all the way to the castle.<p>

It seemed that King David, too occupied with affairs of state to travel out, needed repairs done on his boots.

Suddenly, the idea of confronting the girl he liked ― in her home, of all places ― was _terrifying_.

But when he made excuses, Liam grilled him so mercilessly ― _why on earth, little brother, would you pass up a visit to the castle?_ ― that Killian gave up, just to shut his brother's mouth.

_Younger brother_, he had snapped back, re-tying the ribbon around his queue, polishing his shoes, and dusting off his clothes.

Of course, images of Princess Emma didn't leave him alone during the carriage ride. When Liam needed a break to "give nature a call" ―_ no peeking, brother_ ― Killian took advantage of his absence to hunt down wildflowers along the road.

It was hell to hide the rather tousled and windswept bouquet under his coat, but he managed. Liam noticed nothing. He soon fell asleep out of sheer need to avoid motion sickness.

By the time they reached their destination, the flowers were rather wilted. Killian hid them behind his back and practically pushed his brother to enter first.

As he anticipated, the king embraced Liam, showed him the offensive boots (_the heels wore out and Snow's trying to make me wear new ones _she_ made for me ― stiff as a board, I tell you, and pinching my toes_), and off they went to discuss a redesign of the king's favorite footwear. He was very attached to those boots.

Killian, being more inexperienced in repair and better at making shoes from scratch, was left alone in the throne room to wait.

Emma found him first.

Because the guards were outside, he had snuck up to the thrones and tried on David's, just for size. Seeing the steps and elevated view made him a bit dizzy, so he was about to leave when two hands covered his eyes from behind.

He yelped and jumped from his seat.

"Oh, hush ― it's just me, Jones!" Emma laughed, twirling in front of him and emerging from her hiding place.

God, she was light itself. No wonder the kingdom called her the Golden Swan. Her namesake was quite fitting, if he did say so. His breath caught in his throat. _Seeing her really was the best elixir of all._

He descended the stairs backwards, trying to escape her proximity. It really was too much, being within reach of her soft skin and not able to touch it.

"Are those for me?"

He looked down at the suffering bouquet. "Oh ― _bloody hell_ ― yes, they are." He swiftly handed them to her, feeling burnt, and looked away. "I saw them, growing on the road, and I thought..."

"Of me?" Her smile was teasing.

"No ― _of course not_." He faked a grin. "I just thought they belonged _here_, as opposed to that dusty, hole-filled path."

Her brows lifted at the same time, and she smirked. Killian catalogued the look as _adorable_. "Then why didn't you just uproot the bunch and have the gardener plant them in the royal gardens?"

Damn her skills of perception. His jaw went slack, and true to form, he started sputtering. He never knew what to say when he was nervous. "Well...I forgot my knife?" he said weakly.

Her smirk widened. As she swished from side to side, stepping down to the main floor with an air of _faux_ importance, cradling the flowers in her hands, he glanced at her. Oh bloody hell, it was one of _those_ dresses ― a little revealing, but tasteful, showing off her lithe body with a lovely, seductive flair.

But the happy, playful expression on her face belied the suggestion that she was being flirtatious. She was young and genuine and natural― He gulped at the sight of her heaving cleavage. A wish to take off her corset entered his mind. His cheeks grew hot.

"Why, Killian ― you're blushing." Instead of smiling at his discomfort, she frowned. "Did...did I say something wrong?"

"No," he snapped. Her scowl deepened. Exhaling loudly, he hastened to say, "It's not you. It's..." _Make up an excuse, Jones._ "It's Liam. He dragged me along, then he abandoned me. I swear, he never lets me help."

Shaking her head at him, she rolled her eyes. "Mother does the same to me at all of her tea parties." Then her gaze lit up. "Never mind that ― look on the bright side. Instead of toiling over leather and stitches...you can go riding with me!"

He smiled to himself, growing warm inside. He did so love to ride. Especially with her.

Before he knew it, she was grabbing him by the hand and pulling him toward the exit. During a run through the corridors, she told a passing servant to put the flowers in a vase ― _in her room, and please don't forget_.

Killian was giddy with relief. And _very_ pleased. He had to bite back another smile, no doubt a very silly, satisfied one.

Laughing in tandem, they entered the sunshine and collided with blue sky. While gazing at Emma as he tore by tall grasses and trees, following her to the stables, he stored this moment in his memories as well. He never wanted to lose sight of her, blissful and free as she reintroduced him to the horses, chuckling when he fed one stallion too many sugar lumps and the black villain nipped at his trousers to extort more.

But what that made this day _bloody perfect_ was the prospect of having Emma all to himself. Even for a few hours. Even if eventually, he had to bid her farewell and go back to the dreary little cobbler's shop.

_If only he could spend all the time in the world with her._

_If only a princess could love a bloody shoemaker._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Was it okay?**


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